


Full of Life

by AGirlWithPicturesInHerMind



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, fluffy memories, seriously don’t read unless you’re ready to feel sad, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 16:06:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGirlWithPicturesInHerMind/pseuds/AGirlWithPicturesInHerMind
Summary: Waverly Earp was full of life and Nicole Haught loved her





	Full of Life

**Author's Note:**

> I always say “happy reading”, but....

I wanted her for a long time.

I wanted to call her mine. I wanted to kiss her when she made me smile. I wanted to tell her that she meant more than she knew to me. I wanted to push back her soft, brown hair as she lay in my bed asleep in my arms.

Everything about her was perfect, and every time we were together I could only think about how extraordinary we would be together.

Her eyes held the stars and I wanted to fly around them. They were chocolate pools that I wanted to dive in. My favorite thing about her eyes was when she smiled or laughed. They were crescent moons and full of life, life that would stretch through to the corners of her eyes, creating wrinkles—little life lines. I held on to them.

When we were 14, we were in her room laying on her bed on our stomachs, our shoulders brushing and legs swinging in the air, bumping into each other every so often.

The books we were supposed to be reading— _The Lord of the Flies_ (our English teacher swore it was one of the greatest books of all time, and I found it terribly boring, but Waverly loved it)—lay closed underneath us. Instead, we were scrolling on Tumblr, laughing at the dumbest crap we saw on our dashboards.

It started off as a means of a 5 minute break, but it ended up with us crying of laughter after an hour as a hamster fell off of it’s wheel. Her eyes were filled with light and I remember looking at them like they held the answers to all of my prayers.

 

Her hand in mine was a perfect fit, two puzzles that had finally stuck together after searching for what seemed like an eternity.

It was graduation day. We hugged our families and told them that we’d catch up with them later on for our party. We ran off—laughing loudly and freely, the weight of high school off of our shoulders—and took over the town of Purgatory. She held my hand, our fingers filling the gaps in between as it should’ve always been.

I felt my heart pounding when she grabbed me, and butterflies erupted in my stomach like the volcano that erupted flowers. We ran into _Shorty’s_ , circling the bar as Shorty yelled at us to get out before Nedley wandered in (we weren’t of drinking age then). I stole two beers when he wasn’t paying attention—only he _had_ spotted us, but he pretended not to notice.

I hid the beers under my gown with one hand. It was a difficult task, but I didn’t want to let go of her hand, so I let my hand cramp up—I hid my grimace well. We got to our favorite field in Purgatory which was filled with daisies and sunflowers and dandelions. We drank our beers and never let go of each other.

Her mind was a wonder—full of _lives_. She was the smartest person I’d ever met. There wasn’t one fact she didn’t know about history. From JFK to the Cold War to the Mayans to what we had to eat last week (that was a marvel too because I wasn’t even sure what we’d had to eat the day before).

She was so passionate. She talked with her hands, her eyes full of unashamed emotion. She could talk so passionately about any topic you gave her. Music, her favorite movie, the lady bug that always seemed to land on her shoulder. I always considered myself lucky to be able to witness her talking. It was such a wondrous thing to watch, like your first eclipse—except I didn’t have to wait years to watch it.

When we were 8, she spoke with that passion on bring-your-pet-to-school day. She had a hamster—Pikachu. I thought it was the coolest name ever. I was with her and Gus when she picked it out. The other kids made fun of her when she didn’t stop talking about him, and the teacher had to stop her.

She turned red, and I felt an anger in my chest, like an angry storm getting ready to roar, and I punched one of the boys next to me on the arm. It wasn’t hard. It left a small bruise under his shoulder. I got suspended, but I was okay with it because she hugged me after school and thanked me. I didn’t know what the warmth in my chest was, but it felt good— _scary_ , but good.

At 16, she told me that Napoleon had once been attacked by rabbits and that Albert Einstein was offered the role of Israel’s second President in 1952, but he said no. I didn’t care about these things until she told me about them. I could get lost in the maze that was her mind and despite me being claustrophobic, it wasn’t something I was afraid of.

Ever since we met, her smile made my palms sweat. She had a lot of different smiles. A small smile she’d give me when she was sad but was trying to reassure me that she was okay. The smile that said _this is the greatest day of my life_ —I saw that one a lot, and I’m glad I did. She had a smile that would make anyone’s heart melt, a nervous smile, a smile she gave you when she was grateful to have you, and an _I’m so proud of you_ smile.

There are a hundred more and all of them ignited a fire in my soul—sometimes it was good, but sometimes it wasn’t. I like to think that she had a smile that was reserved for me. I didn’t know if she knew it, but I did.

She spoke like a best-selling author wrote their words—carefully and full of life.

"I can never go back. I grew out of it. I’m out of the darkness. I deserve to shine, don’t I?"

"I sort of feel like I’m running towards a cliff, terrified of jumping, but I know that when I reach the edge, I’ll fly."

It wasn’t any different when she wrote. She wrote me a letter every year for my birthday.

"Nicole Haught, you are a marvel. You are the literal embodiment of all things pure in this world."

God, how she made my heartbeat speed up.

She was one of the bravest people I knew. I was made fun of in the first grade for being taller than the rest. Waverly, who was the shortest person in class told everyone to back off with a fierceness too big for a first grader to have. She scared everyone off to the point of no one talking to her for a couple of weeks.

She always jumped head first into whatever she wanted to do, trusting that a net would appear after.

Make no mistake. She was also the most fearful person I knew. She was anxious and always _almost_ backed out. But she’d fight through the fear. She’d decided a long time ago that she was unstoppable—that’s what led to her getting the tattoo that said just that on her wrist when she turned 18. I almost lost my hand that day.

She owned every moment she got—her heart full of life, a beautiful innocence. She inspired me everyday. She made my heart soar and sing. She was a gift to the world.

It’s ironic isn’t it? For someone who was so full of life, she didn’t live a long one.

It kills me. It really does. She‘d been my best friend since kindergarten. I could talk to her about anything and everything. I had no filter when I spoke to her because there was no need for it. She knew how to respond to practically everything, and she never minded that I would suddenly change the topic. She always went along with it.

If she didn’t know what to say, she would squeeze my shoulder or hold my hand. She would hug me like I was the oxygen she breathed and settled her head on my chest. She made my heart pound, but still, it was so easy to talk to her.

But, the one thing I really wanted to say. I could never say it. And I tried, but it was just _so_ hard because what if it didn’t go the way I wanted it to go? What if I lost her?

And I had—but not because I told her the truth.

He was drunk. The driver that killed her. He’d ran the red light and she tried to speed up, but it had been too late. She took her last breath 20 minutes later in the hospital.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I ran into the hospital room, panting and sweating, but Gus, Curtis, and Wynonna were crying around her limp, small body.

I didn’t cry, but I fell to the ground. I was numb for the rest of the day.

The next morning I cried fountains as the emotions that I’d pushed down, ran up. I’d never felt such a despair. Every part of my body was aching, but I cried all that day anyway. And the day after that. Then, her funeral came and I cried some more. She was only 21.

I keep asking myself _Why do I get to live? Without her?_

It’s been 5 days, and I’ve been replaying our last conversation. 

_Okay, I’m leaving. Bye, Nicky!_

_Bye, pretty girl._

_Oh, and Nicole?_

_Yes?_

_I’m proud of you. You’re stronger than you know._

She gave me a wink and drove off. 

I keep changing the scenario. In my head, I go up to her and kiss her before she leaves. Maybe she would’ve never left if I’d done that.

But, I guess it doesn’t matter.

I’m standing above her grave now. _The girl full of life_ it reads. I smile as tears travel down my face. I didn’t think I had anymore left. It’s too late now, but maybe she’ll hear me up there in heaven and know that she’s not alone. I know she’ll understand that when I say it, it won’t be friendly, but a truthful declaration that I feel deep in my bones and fully in my heart.

 _“I love you, Waverly Earp,”_ I whisper.

A ladybug lands on my shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t like sad endings but I’d been wanting to write something like this for a while now!! Let me know what you thought <3


End file.
